


Mycroft's Decision

by ready_to_kick_some_ass



Series: The Holmes Brothers [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 14:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6757336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ready_to_kick_some_ass/pseuds/ready_to_kick_some_ass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft has to make a painful decision which costs him the trust of his brother - maybe forever...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mycroft's Decision

Countless times already, Mycroft Holmes had been asked what had happened between him and Sherlock in the past. They had grown apart at some point, he answered with a shrug. There had been…differences.  
He had never told anyone the truth. And he was sure that Sherlock hadn’t told anyone either. Not even to John. At least, not yet.  
But Mycroft often thought back to the day, which had driven him and his brother apart. The images were burned into his memory. Undeniable.  
It had been a cold winter day…  
__________________________

  
Mycroft stood before his younger brother’s flat and smoked his cigarette to an end. It’s cold. Snow slowly falls on the road in thick flakes. They get caught in Mycroft’s jacket and land wet on his forehead.  
He takes the last train and flicks the cigarette carelessly into the snow at his feet, where it burns out with a fleeting glimmer.  
Mycroft looks up to the window of Sherlock’s room, and sighs. He takes out his cell phone, hesitates, and then types a short message. When he has sent it, he is overcome with deep shame.  
He does not want to do that. But he has no choice. No one else can do it. No one else will do it. Nobody except him.  
He enters the building and walks up the stairs to Sherlock’s room.  
When he opens the door, he smells a mixture of unpleasant odors. Sweat, unwashed socks and old, rotting fruits…sweet, and pungent. He walks over broken glass and crumpled paper. Injecting equipment on the ground. An empty bottle of alcohol on the corner table.  
   
He opens the door to Sherlock’s bedroom.

  
His brother lies on the bed, his face buried in a pillow. He wears his dressing gown. As Mycroft comes closer, Sherlock groans and mutters something inaudible into the pillow.  
“Hello, brother,” Mycroft says coldly and crosses his arms over his chest. “How are you?”

  
Sherlock turns to his side and looks up to him, a mixture of anger and something like shame in his bloodshot eyes.  
“I have no desire to talk to you, Mycroft,” he growls hoarsely. “Get out.”

  
Mycroft considers his brother, sees the circles under his eyes, the dull skin and  
the unwashed hair. He looks at Sherlock’s hands and notices that they tremble  
slightly. He looks back to Sherlock’s red eyes and takes a deep breath.  
“It can not go on this way, Sherlock,” he says seriously. “I won’t watch how you let yourself go, any longer…That’s enough.”

  
Sherlock lets out a loud snort. “As if you give a damn about how I feel!”

  
Mycroft raises an eyebrow. “Really, Sherlock. What makes you think that? I was always there for you. I was there to help you if there was trouble at school or at university. I was there when you’ve messed with the wrong people. I was there when you needed money and a room. When did I ever let you down?”

  
Sherlock stares up at him, and looks for a moment, as if he is a bit touched by  
Mycroft’s words, but then the uncontrollable anger covers his pale face again, and he shakes his head violently.  
“Yeah, the big and great Mycroft Holmes! The pride of the family, who collects the black sheep off the floor and makes it re-presentable again,” he growls ironical. “I have enough of that, Mycroft. I don’t need you! Go away now. I can take care of myself.”

  
“No,” Mycroft says quietly. “You can’t take care of yourself, Sherlock. Look at this mess. Look at you. You are addicted and depressed. When is the last time you’ve eaten? When is the last time you’ve  taken a shower? The cocaine has clouded your brain. You need help, Sherlock. I’ll give it to you.”

  
Sherlock stares at him in disbelief, and then his eyes widen.  
“What do you mean?” He asks warily, but Mycroft already turns around and nods towards the two men in nurse clothes, who have come quietly into the apartment. Sherlock is on his feet the next second. He retreats to the wall and shakes his head in disbelief.  
“You…You won’t do that, you can’t be serious,” he says breathlessly, looking from Mycroft to the men, like an animal in a trap, and Mycroft swallows.

The sight is too much for him. He looks down at the dirty ground.  
“I’m sorry, Sherlock. I’ve never wanted this for you…but it’s the only way. Please go with them peacefully, alright? This clinic is really good, they…”

  
“No!” Sherlock cries and then he is suddenly right in front of Mycroft and punches him in the face. He hits Mycroft on the chin and Mycroft groans and staggers backwards a bit, pain flashes through him, in both his face and in his interiors. Sherlock has never ever raised his fist at him before…

  
Before Sherlock can punch him again, the two men grab his arms and wrestle him on the ground with some effort. Sherlock defends himself with all the strength he can muster, but after all he is sick and exhausted and his defense is increasingly weaker.

  
Mycroft holds his chin and looks down on the scene, with a feeling as if his heart is pulled out of his chest, but his face remains as hard and expressionless as ever.  
He must be strong . He has to hide his feelings behind a shield. It is the only way. The only way to save Sherlock.

  
When Sherlock sees one of the men pulls a syringe from his pocket, he gets even more panic-stricken and starts to fight again, and now he begins to plead too, and Mycroft closes his eyes. It is too much. The shield dissolves slowly,  it’s too difficult to sustain. Armor with holes…but not yet destroyed. And Mycroft clings to this armor. He stays ridgid.

  
“Please, Mycroft, I will do the detox by myself, I swear it, please do not let this happen, please…”

  
After the syringe has found a vein in Sherlock’s arm and silences him, he eventually loses consciousness. Mycroft remains rigid stand, as they carry him out. He stands there and he knows Sherlock will never forgive him. No way.

  
And he is not mistaken.  
__________________________

  
Sherlock had spent several months in the clinic.  
Since then everything between him and Mycroft had been marked with distrust and dislike. Mycroft understood that. He was ready to face the consequences of his actions… Although it sometimes hurt him, he was glad that he had acted this way then. Sherlock would have probably killed himself otherwise… Now he was alive. And he had friends. And a reason to live. To go on.  
Even if their relationship would never be the same again, Mycroft would continue to take care of his little brother. He would continue to hide his feelings behind a shield. He would continue to meet the world with an armor to protect Sherlock…  
Because that was his task as big brother…  
   


**Author's Note:**

> Visit me on [Tumblr](http://currently-in-my-mind-palace.tumblr.com/) for more :)


End file.
